


A First Time For Everything

by MissTwistedMind



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Time, Healing, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Touchy-Feely, Trauma, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTwistedMind/pseuds/MissTwistedMind
Summary: He was used to a mage leading the way; he was used to brutal fights for life and death.He was not used, however, to someone being this keen on physical contact.





	1. An Accidental Touch

In retrospect, it should have happened much sooner.

Hawke had always been a little… touchy-feely, especially with her merry band of misfits. Right from the start it had been more than a little strange for him. He was used to a mage leading the way; he was used to brutal fights for life and death. He was not used, however, to someone being this keen on physical contact.

Whether it was a gentle touch to the abomination’s arm, a slap on the dwarfs short back, a chaste kiss on the pirate’s cheek – Hawke was never short of physical contact.

It was part of her charm, too, when she was communicating with strangers. Soothing touches, gentle words, comforting looks. It calmed enraged hearts and worried souls, and was her way of wrapping people around her little finger. Fenris wasn’t even sure if she knew she was doing it.

Of course she behaved in an entire different way when she was with him. Because of Fenris’ history, she kept her hands to herself, restricted their contact to looks and smiles. He knew she was curious about his markings, like every mage who was drawn to the unnatural call of the Lyrium under his skin, and she didn’t hesitate to ask him questions about it if there was something she wanted to know. But she would never prod when he didn’t want to answer or talk about it. It was comforting, in a way, to know that at least _someone_ was respecting his boundaries for once.

So when it happened, it came as kind of a surprise.

They were on their quest at the Wounded Coast to find the mercenaries who killed Prince Sebastian Vael’s family. According to Varric’s informants, the killers would be found here.

They walked along the path to their right – “they” being Hawke, Varric, Aveline and himself – when they were attacked. Fenris didn’t want to underestimate their opponents’ abilities, but after a few minutes of fighting it was obvious that Hawke’s group had the upper hand. It didn’t take long for them to clear out the area and for Hawke to scavenge the corpses for supplies and money.

Aveline and Varric were bickering not far ahead, keeping watch for reinforcements at the same time. Hawke was occupied with one of the now dead members of the Flint Company, crouching down next to him and searching through his pockets, and when Fenris stepped closer to her, she raised her gaze, the wind ruffling the dark strands of hair. “Found anything?” he asked, and she smiled and shook her head.

“Nothing useful.” She stood up with a sigh. “I guess we have to-“

It was right at this moment that it happened. Hawke was still talking, and from her position she couldn’t see what was going on. She had her back to the dead man lying at her feet, and therefor missed the telltale twitch of his arm and fingers as the apparently not so dead man reached for his dagger on the ground next to him and swiped at Hawke with it.

Fenris had a clear view of him, though, and reacted more on instinct than anything else as he reached his arm out and shoved Hawke to the side. She stumbled, thrown off balance, and grabbed his arm for support so she wouldn’t fall. He braced his weight against her fall, but the fine sand under his feet made it impossible not to lose his footing.

They stumbled to the ground, and he quickly rolled on top of her to cover her body and protect her against the man’s attack. Immediately his muscles clenched in anticipation of pain as something flew past his shoulder, but the sharp click of Bianca and the sound of a body hitting the ground told a great length about the man’s fate.

“By Andraste’s dirty socks!” Varric called. “That was close.”

Fenris looked up, saw Aveline and the dwarf sprinting toward them, and then looked back down at Hawke, who lay beneath him. “Are you alright?” he asked and pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

Hawke was covered in dirt and sand, and when she sat up, she shook her hair out and laughed nervously. “I don’t even know what happened.”

“Walking corpses?” Aveline came to a halt beside them.

Fenris shook his head. “No. He wasn’t dead.”

“So it’s a normal occurrence considering who we’re traveling with,” Varric concluded with a pointed look at Hawke as Aveline reached her hand out to help her up.

Fenris got to his feet, too, shaking the dust and the sand from his armor. He looked down at the man of the Flint Company, kicking the dagger from his hand just in case. Aveline was right. It had been close. Not much and this would have ended with a dagger in his skull. With a shake of his head he tore his eyes away from the body, only to find Hawke standing before him, concern written all over her face. “Are you alright?” she echoed his question.

“Yes.” He gave her a short nod. “He didn’t get me.”

Hawke shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.” She pointed at his arm, and Fenris looked down in confusion to notice that he had been rubbing the spot she had touched, where the armor wasn’t covering his skin, so much that the skin had turned bright red.

“Oh…” He let his hand fall to his side. “Yes. I’m alright.”

She didn’t seem convinced, and she opened and closed her mouth before she opened it again and spoke. “I’m sorry I touched you.”

Fenris furrowed his brow. “I shoved you?”

“Yes.” For a moment she let her eyes drift over the coast, as if she was looking for the right words to say, then she shrugged and found his gaze again. “Still, I know you don’t like it, so… I’m sorry you had to shove me.”

It reminded him so much of the first night they’d met each other, when they had been talking outside Danarius’ mansion; back then he had despised her for being a mage, and still, with her smiles and easy flirtations she had captured him, made him laugh and blush and not just follow her group, but instead offer his services to her willingly and all by himself.

So technically it shouldn’t have been a surprise now either that he had to laugh at her disarming kindness, but obviously it was. Both Aveline’s and Varric’s eyes darted to him at the strange sound that was his laugh, and Hawke watched him with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Maker, Hawke. You’re probably the only person in all of Thedas that would apologize for someone shoving them to the ground.”

She smiled genuinely, and it brightened her blue eyes even more. “Okay,” she mused, “than maybe I should thank you for saving my life instead.”

He took a breath to regain some composure, to get rid of the unfamiliar fluttering in his stomach. “My pleasure.” When Hawke’s gaze shifted down to his arm, he noticed he was rubbing at his skin once more. He forced himself to stop, waited for her to look at him again. “If it means saving your life, I’ll get used to your touch.”

Her expression turned a little bit more playful when she raised her chin. “Maybe I should touch you more often then. Completely by accident, of course.”

Fenris swallowed. The thought alone triggered yet another wave of the jittering feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something close to fear, but not as uncomfortable. He decided that he couldn’t place it, and that he didn’t know whether it was unwelcome or not. “Maybe you should. By accident, of course.”

He held her teasing gaze, until Varric stepped between them, waving one arm in the air but not even remotely coming high enough to break their eye contact. “Maker’s breath! Could you stop making out in front of us? Get a room!”

Hawke rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “You’re just jealous.”

“You got me.” The dwarf hefted Bianca over his shoulder with a chuckle. “Can we go back and get the Prince’s reward now?”

Hawke winked at Fenris before she turned, following Varric and Aveline down the path back to Kirkwall. Fenris waited a moment longer, glancing down at the dead mercenaries around him, then shook his head and walked behind them back to the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been slumbering on my computer for some time. Since I haven't posted anything in a while now, the editing might be a bit sloppy. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it.


	2. A Deliberate Graze

The first time it happened deliberately, they were both way too drunk.

Their accidental touches had become more frequent – Hawke would brush his arm when she’d walk past him; she’d stumble into him whenever she was ‘shoved’ by someone in a dirty alleyway in Lowtown; and more often than not she’d reach out for something he was about to grab so their fingers would graze. It had gotten to a point where it was hard for Fenris to believe that these accidental touches were as accidental as she tried to make him think.

This time, they were at The Hanged Man, gathered around the table in Varric’s room, with the dwarf once again being host to their gambling activities. They had been at it for hours now – so long, actually, that the main area down the stairs had quietened down steadily.

Fenris knew he could hold his liquor, but he also knew he was way beyond being tipsy. Still, he was in a good shape compared to the rest of them.

The Hawke siblings, Varric and Isabela had come back from an expedition to the Sundermount, where they’d been searching for pure Ironbark for Solivitus, and with it encountered a stray horde of Darkspawn. When they’d returned unharmed, they had started celebrating today’s survival with lots of alcohol, and hadn’t stopped since. Fenris had come for the dwarf in favor of a quiet night of talking and drinking, but what he had found instead was much better than anything he’d anticipated. Unfortunately the abomination had also joined them a while ago, but he had kept mostly to himself, sitting quietly and slightly away from them with a stack of papers in front of him on the table and a dim expression on his stupid face.

Fenris was startled from his thoughts when laughter filled the room, and Varric and Hawke nearly rammed their foreheads into the table from doubling over. Hawke’s cheeks were flushed from the heat and the alcohol, and Fenris had to admit that he had never seen her as relaxed as she was in this moment.

It was intriguing, to say the least.

“I think I had enough to drunk… eh, drink.” Hawke giggled like a little girl and leaned heavily on the table with her forearm. “We should head back to Gamlen’s.”

“Oh darling,” Isabela drawled, “you can never have enough to drink!” She raised the bottle of cheap wine from the table to refill Hawke’s glass, and put the bottle’s neck to her own lips afterwards. “Don’t you agree?” She looked through her long lashes at Fenris, who sat next to her and across from Hawke.

The pirate had been hitting on him the whole night, even more so than usual. She was snuggled up real close to him, and he shifted closer to Varric, who sat at the end of the table, to get some space between them. “Yes, you can. If you throw up on your way home, it was definitely too much.”

“Then I must have had enough,” Carver admitted. He looked worse than his older sister, resting his forehead on the table and groaning miserably. “I’m definitely going to throw up on my way home.”

“Don’t worry.” The older Hawke patted him on the back. “I can hold your hair back for you.”

“Thank you,” Carver muttered, his voice barely audible against the wooden surface and for once showing no aggression toward his older sister.

Hawke looked across the table at Fenris and gave him an amused smile as she stood up shakily and stretched. Her robe was loosened, and when she raised her arms over her head, her belly was exposed to them. Fenris was so fixated on it that he didn’t notice Isabela scooting closer to him. “What would you say?” Her voice was only a purr in his ear and he nearly jumped off the bench in surprise. “I could offer you a place to stay the night?”

He cleared his throat and looked sideways at her. “I’m good, thanks.”

The pirate huffed. “Spoilsport. Imagine what I could do to you,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I bet I could make these markings of you glow without using my hands.”

Varric interrupted her suggestions with a laugh, saving Fenris from her ministrations. “You only get to touch those if you’re called ‘Hawke’.”

Hawke’s head perked up like a dog’s. “I never touched those. At least not on purpose…” she added over Carver’s muttered ‘Neither did I’.

Fenris eyes shifted down to the table when Varric spoke again. “But you’re the only he would allow it.”

He felt his muscles tense, but somehow he knew that the dwarf was right. _If_ he’d let someone touch the markings on his skin, it’d be Hawke. She seemed to think otherwise, though. “Yeah, sure.” She laughed as she sat down again, obviously forgetting that she had been about to drag her brother home to their uncle. “As if he let a mage touch them.”

“You could stop talking about me as if I weren’t here,” Fenris interjected and looked up from the spot on the table and instead into Hawke’s ice-blue eyes. “I _can_ hear you.”

She tilted her head to the side with a smile, propping her forearms on the table. “Alright. But am I wrong?”

He swallowed. _Yes_. But he didn’t answer for fear of her reaction.

“See?” she gloated. “He could never let a mage touch them without thinking they would do it for the power, the superiority, the dominance or whatever.” Fenris was well aware that it was the alcohol talking, since she would have never said something like this when she was sober – then again, weren’t drunken people supposed to tell the truth?

“Not _any_ mage,” he snapped, anger mixing into his voice. He was kind of sad that after all the touching she’d done she still assumed he was thinking about her that way. Maybe he hadn’t given her any reason not to.

She stared at him in disbelief. “ _Yeah, sure_.”

“I mean it,” he protested.

He should have left it at that. But he hadn’t been sober either, and his judgement might have not been the best.

Earlier that night, when he had left the mansion, he had abandoned his armor in favor of a long dark jacket, still wearing his gauntlets. He stripped them off with practiced ease, rolled up his sleeve and reached his arm out toward Hawke without thinking, resting it on the table. “Go ahead,” he challenged and looked at her, pride and fear warring with each other.

Her eyes got even wider as she stared first at his exposed arm and then at his face. “Wait, what?” The air in the room grew tense. Varric and Isabela both had their mouths shut, and even Carver and Anders were looking at the scene before them without a word. “You’re joking, right?”

He clenched his other fist under the table. “No.”

He knew she was curious. Otherwise she would have refused immediately. “I can’t…” She gave him a rueful look. “I don’t want you to hate me afterwards.”

“I could never hate you.” The words were out before he could stop them, and he avoided her gaze quickly.

A long moment neither of them said anything, and even the others seemed to hold their breath. Then he heard Hawke shift on the bench, and he flinched but didn’t pull back when she took his left hand with her own, laying her right one next to his arm on the table. “You sure?” she asked and waited ‘till he looked at her.

“Yeah…” he murmured, toes clenching.

She contemplated a moment longer, but then she raised her right hand, still holding his left hand in hers, and for a breath her fingers hovered over his skin before she lightly touched the bright lines on his arm. The Lyrium reacted instantly. Not strong, but he felt it humming in his body, and by the way Hawke hesitated, she could feel it too. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense in anticipation of torture, but it never came. It was strange, but not painful. Not even quite uncomfortable. “Does it hurt?” Hawke asked, sensing his inner turmoil, and he shook his head, unable to answer. She tried to find his gaze again, but he could only stare at her hand as it trailed the long line up his arm, then down the smaller ones on the inside. “You’re still with me?” she asked under her breath, and he nodded his head.

His mouth was as dry as the Hissing Wastes when he swallowed, and he watched the glow of the Lyrium intensify when her fingers ghosted up to his elbow again. He wondered briefly what it would feel like if she used magic on it, but he abandoned the thought as quickly as fear closed around his throat. His heart was hammering in his chest like crazy, and a shiver went through him when she left the markings and instead caressed the small patch of skin beneath his elbow with her thumb. Again he swallowed, clenching his jaw so tightly that he thought his teeth might shatter. She swiped her thumb over the same part again, then she closed her whole hand around his arm as far as she could, and stroked the skin gently down to his wrist before she released her hold around it. She moved her left hand, and he noticed the iron grip he had on it, squeezing her slender bones between his fingers.

When he let go of her hand, he wasn’t even able to apologize.

“Can I go next?” Isabela asked next to him. He had completely forgotten that she was there, so much had his world narrowed down on Hawke, and when the pirate had spoken, he had jumped and nearly fallen off the bench once again.

“Don’t scare him off, Rivaini,” Varric chided her and emptied his mug, and Isabela huffed a dirty curse under her breath. The tension dropped to a more comfortable level, and the younger Hawke returned to his position with his head on the table, while the abomination went back to the papers before him. Fenris could feel Isabela und Varric bickering next to him, but he was focused on Hawke’s eyes, which had stayed on him the whole time. Her head was tilted again, as if she would like to ask if he was okay. He rubbed his arm under the table – the feeling so different to Hawke’s feather-light caress – and finally pulled his sleeve down over the markings and put the gauntlet back on. Then he reached for his mug, emptied it as well, and stood up on weak knees.

“Who scared him off now?” Isabela grumbled and looked at Varric, who shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

“No one,” Fenris snapped. The tension in the room may have been gone, but his nerves were still on edge and he needed the cool night air of Kirkwall to calm down. Also, he decided, he would never again drink when Hawke was near. He glared down at Isabela a moment longer before reaching into his pocket and clearing his debt for the night, then he hurried out of the room and down the steps of The Hanged Man without even saying goodbye.

He didn’t get far.

He had crossed the Lowtown market when he heard steps behind him, and when he turned on his heel, he saw Hawke running up to him, her staff clutched in one hand. “What are you doing?” he growled. “You shouldn’t run around alone at night!”

“I’m very capable of defending myself,” she retorted.

“You’re still just a mage.”

“ _Just_ a mage,” she repeated with a knowing smile. “Because mages are so harmless… and this comment coming from the man who sent me into a horde of slavers to pose a distraction…” She cocked her head to the side, and he prayed to the Maker for strength against this infuriating woman.

“I didn’t know you back then. And I told you I was sorry.”

She looked less triumphant than he had expected. With a roll of her eyes she pointed over her shoulder and when he looked where she was indicating, he saw Carver leaning his forearm against a stone wall, his head hanging between his shoulders as if he was about to throw up. “I got him with me.”

Carver retched, and Fenris raised one brow. “Yeah… I’m sure he can defend you right now.”

Hawke gave him an innocent shrug with one shoulder as she looked at her brother and then back at him. “Gamlen’s right around the corner, anyway. But I needed to talk to you first.”

“What about?” He rubbed the back of his neck, because of course he knew what she wanted to talk about. He didn’t want her to apologize, because that would mean either of two things – if he told her it was okay, he would have to admit that he kind of liked it. And if he accepted her apology, she wouldn’t do it again – which was good, right? He wasn’t sure anymore. “Listen,” he began before she could speak up. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I was … surprised.” He was babbling, he knew as much, but now he had started, and he’d rather get it off his chest now. “I don’t want you to feel guilty about it, because I initiated it. And it wasn’t bad – not at all. I… I don’t know how it felt. But I know that I don’t want you to apologize for it, so…”

He looked at her, uncertain, and the moonlight above their heads let her hair shimmer in the night. A slow smile spread across her lips, and her eyes traveled down to his covered arm before she found his gaze again. He knew that smile. It spelled trouble. “Actually, I wanted to ask if you wanted to accompany Varric, Carver and me the day after tomorrow to Darktown in search for Ghyslain de Carrac’s wife. But it’s nice to know what you think about this.” She nodded her head toward The Hanged Man.

Fenris stared at her. “You didn’t mean to ask that.”

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “You should think about it though.” Fenris was not quite sure if she meant he should think about her request or the scene in the tavern – then again this may have been what she’d intended. Before he could mutter something coherent, she smiled at him and turned, wishing him a good night and returning to her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter; it’s probably my favorite one of the four. I liked toying with the idea of Fenris feeling the need to prove himself, but I also wanted to show Hawke’s interest in his markings. In my mind that's one of the reasons he was drawn to her – she gives him an idea, but he has to act on it.


	3. A Cheeky Caress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too graphic, but this chapter contains canon-typical violence and blood; so consider yourself warned ;)

The candle flame flickered, died, and left the fireplace as the only remaining light source behind.

“Well.” Fenris could hear the smile in Hawke’s voice. “That was a clear sign that we should call it a day.”

“Why?” He rubbed his burning eyes, braced his elbow on the table. “You think that was the only candle I had?”

“Wasn’t it?”

He glanced at her from the side, and she smiled cheekily at him. Fenris shook his head, and stood up from the bench to stretch his stiff muscles. They were at his mansion, and it was late at night after one of their reading lessons. Hawke had been with him for hours, and he felt so exhausted and drained from trying to make sense of the different letters that he was glad she brought the practice to an end.

When he turned back to her, she yawned, and laid her head down on her crossed forearms. “You’re making great progress.”

“Yeah,” he answered drily, the sarcasm obvious in his voice as the heat rose to his face. It was still embarrassing not to be able to read – or at least not as quickly – and he still didn’t want the rest of their group to know that he had to take lessons with Hawke.

She raised her head and looked at him sincerely. “I mean it.”

He tried to hold her gaze but couldn't, feeling the blush on his cheeks. When he rubbed his chest, he heard her snort, because she had to know how awkward he felt. The noise was followed by another yawn.

He went back to the bench and sat down with his back to the table and the fireplace. Hawke slid closer and leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. “I guess I have to carry you home?” he asked in a hushed voice, turning his head so his nose brushed her lavender-scented hair.

“Or you could offer me a place to sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow, his thoughts coming to a halt. Could he? It had been four years since they’d met each other, and he had to admit that he never felt for anyone like he did for Hawke – at least not that he could remember. The feeling was foreign, yet he knew a word poets or bards might use. He wasn’t sure if that’s what it was though, and he wasn’t sure if Hawke felt even remotely the same. The thought that she might not scared him… but so did the thought that she might. But he knew one thing for certain: Over the years he had grown more or less accustomed to her hands on his skin. He was still far from comfortable with it, but frequently the echo of her touch followed him in his dreams – sometimes it was so strong that he woke in the dead of the night, flustered and frustrated. He felt ashamed, and wondered when his thoughts about her had changed from admiring her skills and actions to taking pleasure in the way that she moved or smelled or looked.

He was roused from his musings when he felt her laugh against his shoulder. “I should head back now. Mother will have a heart attack if I am not home tomorrow morning.”

She raised her head and looked at him, her face only a few inches away from him. If he leaned forward now… His gaze wandered down to her lips for a second before he caught himself and leaned back hurriedly. “I will walk you home, then.”

Hawke cleared her throat and looked away, and Fenris wondered if she had had the same thought as he. He could have sworn she was blushing, though it was hard to say in the dim firelight. “You don’t have to,” she said and closed the book she had brought for him to read. “I live right around the corner, and in all this time nothing has ever happened to me.”

He shook his head in protest. “You’re wrong. You don’t live around the corner. You have to cross both the chantry courtyard and the Keep’s courtyard. These are both ideal places to wait for and attack a wealthy and beautiful woman. And nothing has happened precisely for the reason that I’m coming with you every time.”

She looked at him, the book held in her lap. “Beautiful, hm?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “That was not the point.”

She laughed softly, but the sound was still loud enough in the quiet mansion to echo through the halls. He was curious if it felt like this living in the Hawke mansion; hearing her laughter through the rooms whenever Sandal said something funny or her Mabari Clover brought her another table leg.

“Don't trouble yourself on my account,” she finally said, but knew that protesting wasn’t going to help. She stood up from the bench with him, and while he put on his gauntlets, she tightened her robe around herself and grabbed her staff.

A few minutes later he led her out of the mansion and they passed the estates of the district together. “So… what? Guardsman Donnic thinks you’re interested in him?” he inquired with a smile, taking up the topic Hawke provided.

She nodded her head and made a face. “Yes.”

“One suitor more or less – what does it matter?” he chuckled. “I’m sure you won’t even notice.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, and tipped her head to the side. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I would never.”

He put his hand to his heart mockingly and she gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, I see.” Then she raised her chin with a huff and stalked past him. “You know, I liked it better when-“

He pulled her back roughly, right as an arrow flew past her and shattered against the wall. “Get the mage!” a woman yelled, right as another arrow was fired at them. Fenris pulled Hawke back further, seeking cover behind a pillar in the chantry courtyard.

“You must me kidding.” Hawke hurried to gather her hair in one hand and tie it back with a ribbon from her robe.

“Is this the wrong time to say ‘I told you so’?” Fenris asked, greatsword already in his hands. His markings were glowing dangerously in the darkness, giving away their hiding place as the attackers came closer.

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Pretty much.”

“Then I’ll wait until later. Ready?”

She gave him a nod. “Ready.”

He emerged from behind the pillar, drawing the attention away from Hawke with a loud battle cry, and headed for the first group of enemies. Their attackers were women, he thought as he avoided the first slash of a dagger and countered the attack with a blow. Who did they think they were?

He felt cold air surround him for a moment, and as he looked to his side, several frozen rogues stared up at him, their faces barely visible under the layers of ice. He struck out with his blade, shattering their corpses.

“You know...” Hawke's voice was strained, and when he turned mid-blow to look at her, she was fighting off attackers with her staff, holding her ground. “It’s a five minute walk from your home to mine. And still-“ Fire rose around her hands, casting her face in eerie light. A woman screamed when the heat burned her skin. “And still we manage to get attacked!”

“It’s your own fault,” Fenris yelled back, managing to evade an attack. He stuck his hand out, reached into one of the rogues’ chests and smashed the heart in his palm. “Why did you have to say that nothing would happen?!”

A thunderbolt struck another woman right beside him, close enough that he felt the electricity on his skin.

“Hey!” He looked at Hawke, who gave him a challenging glare. “No friendly fire!” They had fought long enough side by side to know the other’s movements, and Fenris had to admit that he trusted her not to hurt him deliberately. He raised his fist toward her in a mocking gesture, and she tilted her head and grinned, followed by a series of steps, wielding her staff like she was dancing, and freezing a row of attackers with the motion. He stepped back, giving her the chance to show off, meanwhile looking for Aveline’s guards. Normally patrols should be watching the streets to defend  civilians who weren’t capable enough to do it themselves, but right now there were no guardsmen to be seen.

Some of the women were closing in, and Fenris stepped closer to protect Hawke’s back. He slashed through the rogues, mindful of the mage he was trying to protect and her feather-light steps on the pavement.

The attackers got less and less, and finally there were only a few archers left. Hawke cast a barrier around herself and got their attention while Fenris made his way over to them unnoticed to snap their necks. The last woman stood before him, bow raised, but he ducked and snatched the weapon from her hands. Another noise from the courtyard caught his attention, and in the second it took for him to look and discover Aveline’s guards running toward them, the rogue before him struck his thigh with a dagger. He yelped in agony, his markings flashing, and reached forward through her chest and ripped her heart out with a satisfying crunch.

“Fenris!” He heard Hawke coming closer as the body thudded to the ground. Fenris straightened his back and looked down.

A dagger was deep embedded in the flesh of his thigh, soaking the cloth around the wound with blood. “Venhedis!”

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked as she came to a halt beside him, touching his arm. She saw the dagger, and muttered a curse under her breath. “Where have you been?” she snapped at the two young guardsmen nearby.

They had the decency to look sheepish when they muttered something about a tumult at the Blooming Rose, and Hawke made it clear to them that the Guard Captain would know about this. Fenris didn’t pay them much attention. Instead he leaned forward, reached down and took hold of the hilt. He was about to yank it out, when Hawke stopped his movement with her hand on top of his. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He looked up at her questioningly. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Her eyes widened. “What? You’re going to pull it out?!”

“Well, I can’t leave it there, can I?”

She shook her head and frowned. “You’re not some kind of… crazy barbarian!” He opened his mouth to tell her that a lot of people would beg to differ, but closed it again without comment. “The estate is a few feet from here. Will you make it there?”

He was careful not to lean too much of his weight on the leg when he stood up straight. “I think.” Hawke pressed her lips together for a moment, then her face brightened and she held her staff out to him. “You can use it to lean on,” she explained as he eyed it suspiciously. “Come on, it won’t kill you.”

He snorted, but there weren’t many other options, so he took the wood firmly in his hand to balance his weight. While one of the guards left to get reinforcements, the other stayed behind to search the bodies. Hawke went over to him and talked to him briefly, then came back to Fenris, gathering the book she had dropped when the fight had begun.

“Invisible Sisters,” she said and held up a piece of paper when she was close enough. “And a map to their hideout.”

“If we’re going to get down to that,” Fenris groaned, “I’m going to have to pull it out.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hawke answered and went over to the door to her estate. He hobbled behind her as she unlocked it. “We take care of that with a larger group. Come on in.” She led him inside, pressing her finger to her mouth. “The others went to bed already, so be quiet.”

Hawke turned when she heard her Mabari Clover approach, and caught him before he could tackle them to the ground. Fenris patted the dog’s head in greeting, before Hawke shooed him away.

“We’ll be quicker if we use the hidden path in the basement,” she explained as she helped him cross the main hall.

He stopped to look at her questioningly. “The basement?”

She returned his confused gaze. “Yes? The clinic? Anders?”

Then he caught on. “No.” He pushed away from her, stumbling a little. It made the dagger twist painfully in his flesh, and he suppressed a groan.

“Oh come on, Fenris!” she snapped in a low voice. “You have a knife in your leg!”

“And I will take care of it.” He leaned his weight further on her staff. “Give me a few clean bandages so I can stop bleeding on the floor.”

“Fenris…” she pleaded, but he shook his head.

“I can’t. So please stop it.”

Hawke held his gaze before she sighed softly. She turned to look at the stairs leading to the second floor, the glanced back at him. “Will you at least let _me_ take a look at it?”

He wanted to refuse again. It would be so much easier to hide in a dark corner and take care of it himself, but Hawke… she would think he didn’t trust her enough, which was not far from the truth. She was, after all, a mage, and while he handled fighting with her side by side very well, being in pain around someone with magical abilities was more than he could handle.

Still… if there was anybody who he’d let take care of him-

“Fenris?” Hawke had stepped closer, her head tilted to the side. “Can you get up the stairs?”

The stairs wouldn’t be the problem, he thought grimly, but followed her nevertheless as she led him through the foyer, her Mabari staying behind and lying down in front of the fireplace. Fenris leaned most of his weight on the staff, biting his lip so he would keep himself from making too much noise and disturbing the other people living in the mansion. She shooed him into her room, the fireplace casting a soft glow over everything, and with a flick of her wrist the remaining candles came to life. It was strange to see her casting a spell this naturally. Normally she thought twice about working her magic, but he figured since they weren’t in public she felt far more comfortable with being a mage.

“Take a seat,” she said and motioned to the bed, meanwhile walking over to one of her chests and opening to lid to look for something inside. He leaned her staff against the bedpost and lowered himself onto the bed, groaning when the dagger twisted in his flesh, and finally let out a soft sigh when he stretched his leg to take off some of the pressure. “I’m no healer.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can do it myself,” he offered again, worried that she might not want to do it, but Hawke shook her head determinedly.

“Don’t worry. I had to stitch up Carver often enough to know what I am doing.”

“I don't doubt that. But you shouldn't have to see that.”

He watched her gather the supplies in her arms before she stood up and came over to him, dropping the staff next to him on the bed. “It’s alright. I’ve seen worse.”

 _That doesn’t make it better_ , he thought but held his tongue.

She kneeled beside him and eyed the wound. “I need to cut off your pants.”

Fenris, still in thought about the things _he had seen in his life_ , choked on his own breath. “Excuse me?”

Hawke raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Well… you won’t be able to undress with the dagger in your thigh.”

"I can pull it out," he blurted.

"And bleed all over my expensive carpet? No, thank you.” She stood up and crossed her arms before her chest. “Don’t be so… prudish. I won’t jump you.”

He felt his cheeks heat, but cast her a look that hopefully resembled a glare. “That’s actually not what I had in mind.”

Her expression turned gentle, and she uncrossed her arms slowly. “If you feel too uncomfortable, you don’t have to do this. But I-“ She stopped herself mid-sentence, and he watched her from his place on the bed as she looked away.

Without giving it much thought, he pulled his own dagger from his belt, carefully flipped it in his hand and held it out to her. After she accepted it from him, he took hold of one of the bedposts and stood up gingerly, careful not to jostle the blade stuck in his thigh too much. She came closer, searching his eyes for indecision and kneeling down in front of him when she found none. Fenris held his breath, waiting patiently as she cut the cloth beneath the wound and down to his ankle. “The dwarf can never know about this,” he mumbled after a while, his gaze fixed on the closed door on the opposite site of the room.

“My lips are sealed,” she answered, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

His pants fell open around his skin, yet Hawke cut it a little wider above the wound before she motioned for him to sit down again. He felt exposed and self-conscious, his markings and his scars visible to her.

To Hawke’s credit, though, she didn’t voice any of the questions which must have been going through her head.

“Alright,” she said, closing her fingers around the dagger still embedded in his thigh. Her breath shook, but her hand was steady.

“Alright,” he whispered into the silence and tried not to tense up. “Pull it out swiftly. Don’t hesitate.” The muscles in her arm flexed, as if she got ready to pull, but he quickly covered her hand and stopped her motion. “Wait-“

“You told me not to hesitate,” Hawke argued and furrowed her brow, and Fenris’ gaze turned a little sheepish.

He clenched his teeth for a moment because of his own cowardice. “I know… I- Do you know how- or-“

She let go of her breath, her hold on the dagger not relaxing as he took away his hand. She looked up at him. “I don’t know. I have a question first.”

“Yes?” he asked, right before a searing pain flashed through his whole leg and up his spine, making it impossible to focus on anything else but the agony that washed through him. All his muscles locked in shock and he sat frozen, not able to even breathe, until finally the hurt subsided, and he could close his eyes, breathing gingerly. “You’re evil,” he murmured finally without looking at Hawke, who sat at his feet with the dagger next to her on the carpet and her hands pressing a piece of cloth to his bleeding thigh.

“What can I say?” A slow grin spread across her face, “I’m a mage. I got the evilness in my blood.”

“Easier to cast spells with, hm?” Fenris lay down on Hawkes bed with a smile, his legs still dangling over the edge. The wound was throbbing, the skin around it crawling and pounding in rhythm with his erratic heartbeat. He felt the blood trickle down his thigh when Hawke replaced the soaked gauze with new one, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Fenris?” He hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes. The room around him was swaying like he was on a ship, and he clung to the bedpost when he tried to sit up. “It’s bleeding too much. I can’t stitch it like that.”

“It’s okay.” He pressed his hand down on the bloody gauze on his thigh so Hawke could take her hand away. “I’ll take care of it when I’m back at the mansion.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You want to walk home like that?”

“Well, I can’t fly there,” he answered with a shrug. “And it’s not like I haven’t gone through worse.”

When he tried to stand, Hawke stopped him with a hand on his arm. “These times are over. You have to accept that there are people who worry about you and take care of you now.” The look on her face told him that this wasn’t a matter for debate. “So stop being so stubborn and let me help.”

“It’s got nothing to do with being stubborn,” he snarled before he could think better of it.

For a second he thought she would argue, but then her features softened. “Are you afraid?”

Cowardice made him want to avoid her gaze, anger made him want to lie. He repressed both those urges, and dug his fingers into the duvet beneath him. “Yes.”

If his answer hurt her, it didn’t show on her face. “What can I do?”

Blood was running over his fingers, and he didn’t know if this was what made him feel so nauseous, or the prospect of Hawke working her magic on him. “Nothing. I… can’t.” And then, because his pride was already in tatters. “Please don’t make me.”

His heart was so loud in his ear that he almost didn’t catch her answer. “I won’t.” She took hold of his hand and didn’t pull away even when he flinched. “That’s another thing you have to get used to. Making your own decisions.”

He clutched her hand in his, both their palms wet with his blood. “Are you- do you… is it okay?” he stammered, not even knowing what he wanted to say, but Hawke smiled comfortingly up at him and nodded.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” She looked back down at the wound. “But I would like for you to stay here until we’ve got this under control.”

He nodded, his heartbeat not yet back to normal, but at least a little slower. “Alright.”

Fenris watched her as she took care of the wound. His nausea didn’t subside, and he knew exactly why. He buried his nails in the sheets and took the plunge.

“Would it hurt?” He was ashamed of how much his voice shook. Hawke looked at him, again not showing any surprise. Her calm demeanor had always been something that drew him to her, and right now it was what held him there, in her room, contemplating to let a mage heal his wound.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, and her honesty pulled the rug out from under him. Anyone else would have told him ‘no’ to make him feel safe – but not Hawke. She put her cards on the table and, as promised, let him make the decision. “Normally it doesn’t. But I don’t know how the Lyrium will react to it.”

He nodded. The nausea and the dizziness got worse, so he lay back down, but he knew very well that Hawke would not drop the subject now that he started it.

At least some part of him hoped that she wouldn’t.

She didn’t disappoint him. “We can try it if you want to, and you tell me if anything feels wrong.”

His throat got so tight that he couldn’t answer. His skin felt uncomfortable. So did his wound. And the fear that kept trying to choke him. “I don’t know if I can.” He didn’t want to be afraid of Hawke.

Yet right now he was.

He also knew that he’d take this fear with him if he left now, and that it would get worse.

She waited for his choice, not pressing him to do it but not giving him a way out either.

_He didn’t want to be afraid of her._

“Alright, do it.” Fenris was too scared to even think about what he was doing, and that was exactly why he went through with it. She didn’t ask him if he was sure, because she knew the answer, so instead she changed her position on the floor, resting her other hand on his thigh too. His stomach dropped as if he’d missed a step when she pulled the gauze from the wound, and he held his breath and closed his eyes tightly when he felt her summon her magic.

The Lyrium reacted, flooding the room with blue. Fenris felt its hum, his skin tickling where the marks were etched into his skin, and he didn’t dare to move in fear of the pain that hadn’t come yet. Time stretched, and he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed because his throat was too damn dry. With a jolt he raised his wrists from the surface they were on and was surprised when he didn’t find them restrained – no, it was okay, this was Hawke, it was her, and she wouldn’t. He swallowed again, his eyes burning, and he buried his fingers in the duvet, not trusting himself not to hurt her. This was Hawke, this was Hawke, he repeated over and over in his head, grounding himself in reality, occupying himself with other things than memories that were not there anymore.

_This is Hawke, this is Hawke…_

It was the only thing he could focus on. His attention wavered, his mind swayed, but he kept it in his head, never letting go. This was important, he couldn’t- Reminders of a distant past kept flashing before his eyes, but they were as impalpable as the fog warriors-

“Fenris?”

His name jolted him back to reality, but he kept his eyes closed. As long as no one knew he was awake-

No, _this is Hawke_. They were still at her mansion, and he was lying on the soft covers of her bed. Fenris could feel Hawke’s body next to him, lying with him on the mattress. Her warmth was like a beacon to him, and he let himself be drawn, taking comfort in her presence until the shaking subsided, the sweat had dried, and he felt a little like himself again.

His voice was rough when he tried to speak, and he needed several attempts until he had it under control. “I don’t even want to know what you think of me now,” he lied, his eyes still closed.

The truth was that no one’s opinion about him mattered except for Hawke’s. He knew that he couldn’t stand the fact that she thought of him as a coward.

A long time she didn’t answer, and for him this was confirmation enough, but then Fenris heard her move next to him and suddenly her lips were on his cheek. His eyes snapped open and his skin flushed, but Hawke pulled away before he even knew what was happening.

“I’ve never met a man as brave as you, and I’m honored that you trusted me enough to take care of you.”

He turned his head to look at her. Hawke was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow. Her dark strands of hair fell loosely over her shoulders, so he figured she must have gotten rid of the ribbon she had used to tie it back before the fight against the Sisters. In the dim light of the room she looked much more relaxed and comfortable, even a little bit younger. His gut told him that she was making fun of him, but she wasn’t even smiling. In her eyes shone only… affection, maybe.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

With a smile she leaned forward again, and this time he was well aware of the kiss she pressed to his cheek. His skin was tingling pleasantly where her lips touched his skin, and her hair was tickling on his nose, but he wouldn’t have wanted for it to end as quickly as it did.

“Always,” she said, and he knew she wasn’t lying when she said it.


End file.
